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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26482114">Chromatica</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starcrossedsky/pseuds/Starcrossedsky'>Starcrossedsky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>D.Gray-man, Naruto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Contemporary, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Canon-Atypical Acknowledgement of Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, everyone in both these canons has PTSD don't @ me, extremely contemporary we're talking Seattle May 2020 here</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:28:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26482114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starcrossedsky/pseuds/Starcrossedsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kakashi Hatake is just trying to live his life, in a world that seems to get more difficult by the day - on both sides of the divide between the supernatural and everything else.</p><p>The last thing he needs is a weird kid who looks and acts far too much like his dead comrade hanging around, but that's exactly what he's going to get.</p><p>(Alma, for his part, came looking for answers - but not the ones he's going to get.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Chromatica</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>[holds up pictures of Alma and Obito] [pauses, scribbles more eyebrow on Obito] these are the SAME PICTURE</p><p>and that's it that's the fanfic. titles yanked from the Lady Gaga album. Updates whenever the HELL it updates. Have mercy on my shaky worldbuilding I'm just doing Whatever here.</p><p>also this is my love letter to Seattle-Tacoma as I remain trapped here in the Midwest so like, soon, hopefully, I'll return.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Another night, another nightclub. The amount of supernatural business that goes on in the back rooms of these places is so far into cliche that it's genuinely unbelievable. And you're a guy who has read the entire Chuck Tingle catalog. Suspension of disbelief isn't really a problem for you.</p><p>Of course, maybe it's just that you're a student of Jiraiya's tradition, and the Toad Magician definitely likes his nightclubs too much. You don't have anyone you can ask; as far as you know, all his direct students are dead, and you're the only survivor of <i>their</i> students. </p><p>So it might just be a Jiraiya thing. That's certainly why you're here in <i>this</i> club, on this night, ignoring the movement of bodies to search for a head of white hair among the patrons.</p><p>You think you spot him for a minute, in the back at one of the gambling tables. Not Jiraiya's style, to be sure, but it's Tsunade's, and the two do still work together, from time to time. And there's a blond there, too. </p><p>But it's quickly apparent that the white hair is too short, and the blond's too yellow. Still, white hair's pretty uncommon among the civilian population, even with current fashion trends putting light hair colors in style, so you wander over to get a closer look anyway.</p><p>The game is cards, and the white-haired boy is cheating furiously. Cheating <i>well</i>, good enough that the civilians around him probably won't notice, but cheating wildly nonetheless. He's also far too young for this club, fifteen or sixteen at most. His blond companion can't be more than nineteen, though his severe haircut and expression make him look older, and his posture is so stiff-backed you'd think he was from Root.</p><p>But it's the third member of their apparent party that makes your heart jump into your throat. It's just coincidence, you tell yourself, breathing deep under your mask. </p><p>It doesn't make the image of Obito imposed over the youth disappear, but it allows you to think. If the impossible were true and Obito were alive, he'd still be two years older than you, not an eighteen-year-old with his arms crossed behind his head, back leaning against the table as he snoozes in a nightclub. But except for the scar across his nose, he <i>could</i> have been. That's what Obito could have looked like, if he'd lived a few years longer, long enough to look bored hunting down Jiraiya in nightclubs. Too-fluffy black hair, too-casual posture, short sleeves and fingerless gloves that wouldn't look out of place on any shinobi, a far-too Uchiha-like jaw and nose. Too much eyebrow, but maybe that's just because you're used to Sasuke.</p><p>It's unsettling. It's even more unsettling when Obito's look-alike cracks his eyes open, watching you before leaning over to elbow his white-haired companion on the shoulder.</p><p>(It must the lighting that makes those eyes look almost <i>glowing</i> neon blue. Not Uchiha black or red, at any rate, and that's enough to end the illusion and shake you out of your trance.)</p><p>"Don't get too caught up winning," he says. "We're looking for that pain in the ass old man, remember?"</p><p>The white-haired boy sighs heavily and brattily into his cards. "Don't remind me."</p><p>"Link's too polite to," the black-haired boy counters, equally bratty. </p><p>"Fiiiine," the white-haired boy says. "Last hand, sorry guys," he says to the adult men surrounding the rest of the table. They don't look too displeased by it; probably glad to not lose all their money to a cardshark half their age.</p><p>You drift in the direction of the table near theirs, absently throwing a five at the nearest waitress as you pass her. She blinks and then stuffs it down her bra. No one can say you're not generous.</p><p>There can't be <i>too</i> many old men the obviously supernatural would want to find in a place like this, right? If they're a lead on Jiraiya, then you <i>have</i> to tail them.</p><p>The dark-haired one stretches as the hand finishes up, moving too fluidly to not be a threat. That's a hunter at the very least. He pulls his jacket off the stool, and you see the flash of an emblem on the shoulders as he shrugs into it, a silver cross set in black.</p><p>You sigh. The cross might not be as ornate as the ones you usually see on their uniforms, but that's Black Order iconography, you'd bet your eye. And if the three of them are Black Order, that explains both the not-Root member and the aura of confident danger that surrounds them.</p><p>You're not sure if that increases the likelihood that they're a lead on Jiraiya or not. The downside of the man's private spy network being so exhaustive is that you can't be sure that there <i>aren't</i> members of even the highly secretive Black Order among his contacts. It also means that following them will probably be annoying.</p><p>Still, this is the best lead you've gotten in a while, so you keep an eye on them as the hand finishes up. The white-haired kid has the good sense to not finish with a winning hand, just a decent one, and accepts his loss with grace. As they head towards the side exit, you trail after them, looking casual, listening to the conversation.</p><p>"I could have really made bank on those guys," the white-haired kid is saying to the dark-haired one. The blond is fiddling with the emergency exit, probably turning off the alarm so they can slip out unnoticed. </p><p>"We're not going to catch up to that bastard if there's a trail of guys pissed off at a pint-sized cheater," the dark-haired one replies. He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips. "You're too distinctive-looking, Allen, and Cross knows you pretty damn well."</p><p>'Allen' huffs in irritation, turning so that you get your first decent look at his face. There's a scar over his eye that makes yours look like nothing; the intact eye underneath should be impossible. "You're not much better, Alma."</p><p>"But he doesn't know he should be looking out for me," 'Alma' responds cheerfully, waving one hand to dismiss the concern. "Therefore, I have the advantage."</p><p>There's a small click of metal, which most people wouldn't be able to hear over the dance music pumping through the club, even in this relatively deserted corner. The blond steps away from the door, an unimpressed expression on his face. "If you two are done..."</p><p>"<i>Never</i>," Alma says with a tilt of his head and a wink.</p><p>Your chance to approach them is slipping away rapidly. Once they're through that door, you <i>might</i> be able to catch up to them, but it's unlikely. So you shove your hands in your pockets and approach.</p><p>"Hey," you say, and it's too bad they don't freeze up; more confirmation that they know what they're about. An alarmed look out of the one called Allen is all the reaction you even get. "Heard you guys are looking for someone. I'm after a cranky old man myself - care to trade intel?"</p><p>Link watches you warily, with narrowed eyes. Alma says, "Sure. Want to do this outside?"</p><p>"Fine by me," you say. The four of you slip out into the parking lot without a further word. Since you came in, it's drizzled. The rain has stopped for now, but everything has the shiny wet quality of fresh rainfall. Allen flips the hood of his jacket over his head after a glance at the sky.</p><p>It occurs to you that the kid either has the most effective skin care routine on the planet or just doesn't <i>get</i> acne. You're a little envious, 80% covered face or no.</p><p>"Who is it you're looking for?" Link asks, immediately businesslike. </p><p>"An old scoundrel named Jiraiya," you say. You're going to give a little more description, but Alma interrupts you with a snort before you can say anything more.</p><p>"Surprised the toad pervert's still kicking," he says. Both his companions raise their eyebrows, but say nothing. "Sorry, I haven't heard anything recent."</p><p>"I don't even know who you're talking about," Allen says. "How do you know everyone?"</p><p>"Not everyone, just old people," Alma says blandly. He leans against the hood of an SUV, somehow without setting off the alarm. He shrugs one shoulder. "I've got a good memory for names and faces, that's all."</p><p>Better than just names and faces, if he knows about the association between Jiraiya and toads. You frown under your mask. Eighteen-ish is too young to reasonably have much knowledge of Jiraiya's power; he hasn't been active most of the last two decades except in isolated incidents. Either you're run into a budding spymaster, or something supernatural, and with those too-reflective eyes you'd bet on the latter.</p><p>Well, whatever. Not like it's the first time you've run into someone older than they look. Tsunade stilled her aging in her late twenties somewhere, and she doesn't have anything more than distant fae ancestry. It's not all that hard for someone who knows what they're doing.</p><p>"Maa, it's not really Jiraiya I'm looking for," you admit. "A student of mine is currently apprenticed under him, and it's been a while since either of them reported in. Blond kid a couple years younger than you guys, too much energy, zeroes in on any ramen shop in a twenty mile radius?"</p><p>It's one thing to give out Jiraiya's name; his reputation is well-known enough. You're not going to give out Naruto's if you can help it.</p><p>Alma shakes his head again. "No luck, sorry."</p><p>"If you're looking for ramen places," Allen says, "there's a hole-in-the-wall down in the U district that might be worth checking out. Better quality than half the places in Chinatown, and cheap."</p><p>Well, it's something. You make a note to at least scope the place out. "Thanks," you say. "Who are you after?"</p><p>"<i>My</i> asshole master," Allen says, which clarifies little to nothing.</p><p>"Cross Marian," Link says, which is more helpful. "We've managed to trace him to this city as of three days ago."</p><p>"I've heard the name, but I'm not familiar with him," you say, which is true enough. There's too much supernatural to keep track of too much outside your sphere, and whatever the Order does doesn't cross paths with your people all that often. Something about demons, undead, and/or a holy war.</p><p>"Long red hair, likes drinking and 'good' women, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean," Alma says. "Tends to run off and leave them with the bill in the morning. He's been running around at least as long as Jiraiya, if that gives you a baseline."</p><p>Now <i>that</i> triggers a memory. You chuckle. "A friend of mine was complaining about someone who meets that description a few days ago," you say. 'Complaining' is really understating Tsunade's reaction to whoever her drinking buddy was. "Try some of the places on the southern side of the city."</p><p>"The shady ones, or the <i>really</i> shady ones?" Alma asks, without skipping a beat.</p><p>"Regular shady," you say. "Maybe even some of the less-shady ones." Tsunade's been trying to clean up her act, after all, but sometimes that only means she'll drink in places that will kick her out when they think she's had too much.</p><p>"The less shady ones are unlikely to let us in," Link says, which, fair enough. You shrug, because that's their problem to figure out.</p><p>"We can eliminate them by their wine selection," Allen says, before nodding to you. "Thanks."</p><p>"Good hunting," you say. "I guess I'm going to go have some ramen."</p><p>And without anything more of an exchange, you amble off, waving absently. Just another passing encounter between agents of very different organizations, helping each other out. Once you've reported it - because Tsunade will want to know that there's Order folks poking around - you try to put it out of your mind.</p><p>It goes, but it leaves a shadow of Obito in its wake that follows you around for weeks afterwards.</p><p>----</p><p>Two years later, it actually is raining, pouring down, instead of the ominous threat of drizzle. You're tucked into the corner of a bus shelter on a street that's busy by day but dead at this hour, waiting for the late night express bus that will drag you back to the city proper. There's a leak in the roof of the bus shelter on the other side, the splatter of the drops coating the bench at the other end.</p><p>There's a massive bruise in your side from getting slammed into a building. It's not going to kill you in the two or three hours until you can crash into Sakura's pinhole of an apartment, and you can always count on her to fix you up. It's just a matter of getting there.</p><p>You're also exhausted, from overuse of your eye and the lightning that still tingles in your fingers. The foul-smelling thing that climbed up out of the tideflats had hit when no one else was around, and you were lucky or unlucky enough to see it when it did, and skilled enough to take it out without dying in the process. Bruised ribs - you don't think they're broken - are a small price to pay.</p><p>So you're a little distracted when someone else ducks into the bus shelter, muttering to themselves about something disappearing. The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but the combination of hood and now-obligatory face mask means that you don't recognize the figure until he shoves his hood back. </p><p>Then recognition slams full force into your chest, and Obito's name almost escapes on a breath before the boy turns in your direction and you remember that night in the nightclub parking lot. Well, luckily you didn't stick your foot in that one.</p><p>"Oh, hey," he says. "Didn't expect to run into you here. Did you ever find the old toad?"</p><p>And it just figures that he remembers you, too. You haven't thought of the incident in ages, and you don't think you would even remember at all if it wasn't for how much this Alma kid looks like Obito. And here he is with a good enough recall to still associate you with Jiraiya.</p><p>Kids these days. You try not to wince as you say, "Ah, I did, actually. Did you find your drunkard?"</p><p>"Ugh, I wish," Alma says. "Actually, your tip is the last thing anyone's heard of him."</p><p>"That's one hell of a cold trail," you say, keeping your tone light so as to betray none of the crushed-chest pain you're experiencing. Literal or otherwise. "My sympathies."</p><p>"Everyone at the Order already thought he was dead," Alma says. He doesn't seem to notice any strain in your voice, too caught up in his own rambling. "And that I'm just a conspiracy nut. But I'll believe that bastard's dead when I see the corpse, run a DNA test, and light the thing on fire myself. He's running around out there somewhere, you can bet your ass, he's just managed to get another fake identity or two along the way. 'Course, he's probably in Russia or something by now, bastard."</p><p>You chuckle at the rant, unable to help yourself, and immediately regret it as your ribs reject the change in your breathing patterns. You immediately switch back to the kind of shallow breaths that hurt the least.</p><p>"Are you okay?" Of course, now you're the recipient of a concerned look. You huff slightly.</p><p>"Just some bruises," you lie.</p><p>"Your breathing is <i>shit</i>," Alma says. The not-impressed look you get is a bizarre thing to experience, coming as it does from a bizarre concoction of Obito's features and foreign eyes. It's so familiar that it triggers some kind of alarm bells in your head.</p><p>There's some nasty entities that trade on familiarity and comfort to prey on people. If one of them was going to prey on you, Obito's face with Gai's eyebrows isn't <i>not</i> the kind of face something like that would wear. The fact that he has some kind of established place with the Black Order doesn't mean shit, considering that the only people who know what the religious organization does are the ones neck-deep in it.</p><p>And showing up when you're injured and at least an hour from any kind of help is exactly the kind of situation you'd expect that kind of spirit to show up in. You bite your lip under your mask. Your easiest-to-access weapon is a folding knife up your sleeve, the kind of thing every petty criminal and would-be zombie prepper carries. You found it on the floor in the middle of a Walmart. There's absolutely nothing special about it if this is a genuine spirit.</p><p>"I'm fine," you say, turning away so that you can keep your good eye on him in profile. Under the excuse of pushing some of your wet hair away from your face, you slide the seal-bearing bandana over Obito's eye up onto your forehead. The world crystallizes until you can see every raindrop falling outside for at least a block.</p><p>"Yeah, bullshit. Look, I get not wanting to go a hospital, fuck this economy and also our line of work, but - "</p><p>In the space of that rambling sentence-and-a-half, you drop the knife into your hand, unfold it, and lunge. Alma's back slams into the plexiglass of the bus shelter, the knife at his throat and your other hand pinning his by the wrist.</p><p>The Sharingan, ever alert for both movement and the supernatural, tells you three things. First, that he doesn't have any of the tension in his muscles of preparation-to-move; he just accepts being pinned to the bus shelter without fuss. With <i>confidence</i>, even, like there's no reason he should even fear the knife against his throat.</p><p>Second, there's magic worked through every single cell of his body. It's not natural, even though it's centered on the heart and brain the way you would expect. There's the edge of a seal at the bottom edge of your vision, though when you risk flicking your gaze to it, you don't recognize the style.</p><p>Third, and honestly the kind of thing that most people would notice first, is the glow of a halo floating over his head. It doesn't shed any visible light or cast any shadows, but it's indisputably an almost-cliche angelic halo, only differing from a cartoon by being a solid disc instead of a ring.</p><p>"Okay, what the <i>fuck</i>," he breathes, and at this point it's impossible to not hear it in Obito's fourteen-year-old voice. It's bratty and pissed, but it's not pissed <i>enough</i> to set your instincts screaming to get away, except for the ones that are already in full panic mode.</p><p>"Tell me what you are," you say, forcing your voice into threatening evenness and pushing with the blade of the knife.</p><p>"Nephilim." The word comes without a second of hesitation. </p><p>"And the seal?"</p><p>One single blink. "Somebody's science project." You don't move, and the shockingly blue eyes over the mask roll upwards. "What, you want to see what it does?"</p><p>He reaches up to grip the wrist of your hand, the one that's holding the knife to his throat, and you let him only because you've had enough time to gather lightning on the fingers of your other hand. If he tries anything, you can put that into his brain in one swift movement, now that you don't need to worry about the element of surprise.</p><p>But instead of breaking your wrist or even shoving it aside, Alma jerks it towards himself, forcing your knife into his throat. It's - </p><p>(for a moment, all you can see is Rin)</p><p> - more shallow than it would have been if you initiated the motion, because your grip goes shamefully limp from shock. (You think it's fair, since even someone with your training wouldn't expect someone to stab themselves in the neck unprompted.) But even with that, it's a bloody wound, the sort of thing that would be fatal without immediate medical attention. Blood covers your hand.</p><p>(you hate getting your hands this bloody)</p><p>The grip on your wrist goes slack enough that you can jerk your hand away, only barely keeping your grip on the bloody blade. And for a moment, blood just flows out of the wound. </p><p>But it slows too fast, and the seal on the edge of your vision kicks into operation, weaving energy into it. As you watch, the flesh knits back together, and without even an apparent pain reaction, Alma pulls the mask from his face and uses it to mop up the blood. The flesh underneath is whole by the time he finishes, and the magic has retreated back into dormancy, though there's still a faint hint of it in the blood on the mask and all over your hand.</p><p>"Did any get on my shirt?" he asks. You shake your head, reflecting that you're slightly in shock and probably half an inch from a panic attack. "Good," Alma says. "It's one of my favorites. Gonna explain what the fuck this is all about now?"</p><p>"You look like..." you begin, more because you're pretty sure that if he wanted to, a <i>regenerating Nephilim</i> could take you out in the the condition you're in, Sharingan or no, than because you're convinced that this is a freak coincidence. "...Someone who died a long time ago."</p><p>Alma sighs. "You know, I've heard that one before, but most people don't feel the need to stab me over it." He looks at the bloody mask and sticks it into the stream of rainwater coming from the leaky roof. Blood washes out of it onto the pavement, the only sign of the injury that remains.</p><p>You don't know where to begin with that statement. You don't think you'd know where to begin with that statement if you were in your right mind, and you're most assuredly <i>not</i>, at this point. "...He was my best friend," you manage finally.</p><p>"...Most people also aren't talking about a guy when they say that," Alma answers, voice quiet and contemplative. He shakes out the cloth mask, squeezes it as dry as it's going to get, and shoves it into a back pocket. "You should wash your hand off before your bus gets here."</p><p>You'd completely forgotten the bus. You don't move.</p><p>"Or drink my blood, whatever, it'd probably help your ribs," Alma continues when you don't respond. You continue to not move, until he reaches out and touches your hand, at which point you flinch back. </p><p>With a patient sigh, Alma takes your hand more firmly, and guides it into the stream of rainwater. It's bitterly cold, and you shiver, but the blood washes off.</p><p>You almost lose your grip on the knife, and it gets pulled too-gently from your fingers. Alma rinses it a bit more, folds it, and stuffs it in the pocket of your jacket. </p><p>"You're lucky I'm nice," he says. "Too nice to hold a grudge over a little stabbing and misunderstanding against a guy having a catatonic panic in front of me. Seattle?"</p><p>You manage to parse the question, and nod vaguely. "Downtown," you manage to say.</p><p>"Bus is almost here," Alma says. You look that direction, and see that it is, only hung up at the crosswalk's stop light. "Come on."</p><p>Somehow, when the bus pulls up, you manage to fumble your way through beeping your fare card and into a seat somewhere in the middle. You hear the rattle of change down the fare machine behind you, and Alma seats himself across the aisle from you.</p><p>"Got someone you can call?" he asks, and you nod vaguely. "Call them."</p><p>You pull your phone out of your pocket on autopilot, hesitating before you press Gai's name on your contacts list. It's the most recent call, because he insistently calls you at least once a week for some kind of stupid challenge even now, and decisions are hard.</p><p>The rings twice before you hear his voice, loud enough that you can see when Alma hears it even though it isn't on speaker. "Kakashi? It's unlike you to call at this hour. Did something happen?"</p><p>You choke on the answer, because <i>did something happen</i> is the understatement of the year, which is saying something. You hear your name repeated at a louder, more concerned volume, at which point the phone is pulled out of your grip.</p><p>"Hi, sorry," Alma says into the mouthpiece. "Your friend's in a really nasty state of shock. I think it's one hell of a PTSD thing, and also bruised ribs. I told him to call someone."</p><p>You don't hear Gai's intake of breath, but you hear the pause, so you know it must be there. "I will be there immediately! You need only give me a location, kind citizen, and I will - "</p><p>"We're on the bus up out of Tacoma," Alma says, cutting him off - not unkindly, but firmly. "You know where it comes out in Sodo?"</p><p>"Of course," Gai says. "I will be there waiting. Is there anything more you can tell me?"</p><p>You see a flicker over Alma's face, and force your gaze away, out the window. It occurs to you that your Sharingan is still uncovered. The wisps of energy that float through the rain outside are a good visual distraction. The rain releases many things back into the air, even if they don't build up around here the way they do in other places.</p><p>"I think it's my fault," you hear behind you. "He said I looked like his dead best friend. It was the last coherent thing I got out of him."</p><p>You're not sure what Gai says in reply. You won't know later; the perfect recall is only visual, for you.</p><p>(Obito would have been able to do it with every sense, but you only have his eye. Somehow, in spite of that, you still remember perfectly the feeling of blood on your hands.)</p><p>"Yeah, trust me, I know, but I wasn't going to leave him there, either," Alma says into the phone. "Look, one more thing - should I cover his eye back up?"</p><p>You close your eyes.</p><p>"Yeah, okay." There's the sound of movement behind you. You tense, expecting an attack, reaching for weapons that are no longer in their proper places after the night you've had, but all you get is a phone shoved against your ear.</p><p>Gai's voice on the other end is quieter than you've ever heard it. "Kakashi, my friend," he says. "I need you to cover your Sharingan. Can you do that for me?"</p><p>You don't react, slow at processing the words, the mention of the eye. </p><p>"Please, Kakashi. Cover it up."</p><p>"Okay," you manage. You reach up, fingers shaking in the periphery of your vision, and jerk the bandana back down. Instantly, the world goes flat, and dim, and mundane. </p><p>"Is it covered?"</p><p>You manage something that sounds like assent into the phone. </p><p>"Good," Gai says. "Get off at the first bus stop. I'll be waiting for you."</p><p>You nod, forgetting that he can't see you over the phone.</p><p>"I must go now, but I will see you soon. Remember to breathe deeply."</p><p>You barely remember how to breathe at all. Slowly, you inhale, exhale, inhale, shove your phone in your pocket. You stare at the rainy freeway, because the alternative is looking at your hands (they're still bloody, you're sure they're still bloody, you can feel the blood on them) or - </p><p>Not Obito. Just someone who looks too much like him. The thought takes you a good few minutes to get together. You count streetlights as the bus trundles along the freeway.</p><p>Someone who is making the effort to get you somewhere safe after you <i>attacked</i> him.</p><p>Shit. At least you can rule out "people-eating monster under a glamour," because catatonic with panic as you are, you would have been an easy meal with nothing more than that.</p><p>You turn to glance over your shoulder. Without your Sharingan, the halo is gone, and Alma just looks like another kid out on the bus too late. He's almost pointedly not looking at you, eyes on the window and half a pair of earbuds in. In profile and without the mask, he looks a little less like Obito. The scar across the bridge of his nose is deep enough to disrupt the slope of it.</p><p>You go back to counting streetlights. You use them to moderate your breathing, because they're more regularly timed than you can count right now.</p><p>God, you're an asshole. Gai was probably asleep. He does the whole early to bed, early to rise thing religiously.</p><p>You wonder if he'll get Sakura on his way to pick you up. You hope he doesn't, because the last thing you want is for one of your students to see you in this state. The only people you could stand to see you like this are Gai and Tenzou.</p><p>Your ribs, on the other hand, would very much like to see Sakura.</p><p>The bus goes over a bump. And then another one, and a third. You lose another ten minutes zoning out, in freeway bumps and curves and counting streetlights. You reflect on how much it sucks that you have to breathe to stay alive. The rain hits the windows. It's slowed to a more region-typical drizzle. A car passes the bus, kicking up spray.</p><p>You reflect on how much it sucks that you have to stay alive, and breathe.</p><p>----</p><p>The bus pulls off the freeway. You vaguely form an intention to get off, but doesn't turn into anything until a hand falls on your shoulder.</p><p>You jerk, but you've come back around to coherent enough that you can manage to get off the bus on your own. Alma follows after you.</p><p>Gai is waiting for you under the bus shelter. You manage to put your feet in front of each other long enough to make your way over to him, and you let him put his hand on your shoulder.</p><p>"How are you feeling?" he asks.</p><p>The question makes enough sense that you can roll it over in your brain and answer, "Forty." Forty percent functionality, which you're aware is only barely verbal for you. If it'd been Tenzou instead of Gai, you'd probably have answered in hand signs.</p><p>It's the lowest you've been in an uncontrolled environment in years. Gai just nods.</p><p>"I'm going to talk to this man," he says. "You can sit in the car, if you like."</p><p>You nod, and manage to make your way over to the bright green car under your own power, though you stare at the door handle for longer than you think is healthy. It's parked illegally. You don't think you've ever seen Gai park illegally.</p><p>You sit in the car and listen to the rain, closing your eyes. It seems like an eternity later that you hear footsteps again, and then you hear Gai getting in the car.</p><p>"Let's go home," he says, and you nod. The feeling of the car pulling off down the street is the last thing you remember.</p>
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